


30 Day Writing Challenge: Axis Powers Hetalia

by CalicoNekoChi



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, will update as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-18 00:28:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16106936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalicoNekoChi/pseuds/CalicoNekoChi
Summary: A series of one-shots for a (likely inconsistent) writing challenge, almost all will be for Axis Powers Hetalia.





	30 Day Writing Challenge: Axis Powers Hetalia

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there, all! I'm doing a writing challenge with a friend. I can't promise consistency, but here are the rules:  
> -Each has to be a minimum of 800 words  
> -We choose one another's prompts from the list  
> For my personal rules, I'll try not to repeat characters (Nyotalia counterparts don't count as repeats). Enjoy!
> 
> Link: http://30daychallengearchive.tumblr.com/post/832610035/writing-prompt-30-day-challenge
> 
> Day 9 —What was your favorite childhood toy?

It’s funny how faded memories can resurface with the subtlest reminders. As a nation, Alfred had become used to blotches taking up seemingly insignificant portions of his mind. But, he’d never quite learned what he was supposed to do with misplaced memories and feelings. Would it be wrong to outright dismiss and reject them? To do away with a past that, when recalled, filled his heart with grief and confusion?

He sucked in a deep, laboring breath and held it until his lungs trembled. Once again, he was attempting to clear out that musty storage room towards the back of his house. Aside from the room’s dismal atmosphere and lack of windows, the broken and forgetting shards of his memory were clumped in box after box, rack after rack, clothed furniture, and even up to a second-floor space. The entire space had never once seen the sun and everything in there would likely never see it again, either.

_One corner’ll be an accomplishment._

But no matter how many times he repeated that in his head, it still took him several tries to shove his feet through the doorway. He distantly looked around the room. Cobwebs were already manifesting on the newer objects and a few spiders were even crawling along the stone walls. There was no telling what other creatures were hiding in here.

For all Alfred knew, there was an entire ecosystem living off of old clothing he’d either outgrown or wanted to leave behind him. Even just passing by a long-forgotten coat rack, he noticed a brown jacket clumsily gripping the hook was riddled with small holes. The other pieces of fabric also had a few, but that jacket looked to be an insect favorite.

His fingers ran along the jacket’s thick wool. “Not even a little soft anymore,” he murmured, lips twisting slightly upwards while his slender brows fixed down, “You’ve seen better days, haven’ya?”

It wasn’t particularly old, like some of the stuff in here. Just some wool jacket he’d picked up before a train ride west. He’d forgotten to bring one with him and the weather had taken a chilly turn. Yet, despite its insignificance, Alfred had still grown rather fond of it. It had been warm and reliable.

_Who had said it looked nice?_

He’d worn it on many trips, much like a good luck charm. As a result, most of the other nations had seen it. Just about anyone could’ve complimented him; it wasn’t the most uncommon occurrence, after all. But it just as easily could’ve been an incomplete memory, too. Alfred wasn’t sure. In a way, he didn’t _want_ to be sure, either. His eyes closed for a moment while his thumb ran over another moth hole.

_It’s no use. I can’t remember._

The fabric dropped from his hand after that. Alfred turned his head to look around the room, purposefully trying to avoid a few of the more recent objects the Cold War had given him. But in his haste for refuge, his cerulean gaze landed on a familiar set of toy soldiers. His lips pulled as far into his cheeks as possible. Almost two hundred and fifty years had gone by since Alfred had declared his independence and he still couldn’t bring himself to throw out anything Arthur gave him. It was pathetic. Showing this degree of weakness was entirely unfitting for a global superpower.

And yet, those four toy soldiers staring up at him with smudged and chipped faces were enough to make his heart tremble. Some were toppled onto the floor, but one in particular had managed to stand through all of the years of random objects filling the room, insects creating an ecosystem in here, and virtual neglect.

Alfred grabbed it for the first time in almost a century. Its painted red coat had a few scratches and its large, bushy mustache was fading, but it was otherwise still the leader of Alfred’s understaffed toy soldier platoon.

 After Arthur had given him the box of soldiers all those centuries ago, Alfred had played with them almost every day. He’d always raced downstairs before breakfast just to get at them, form a line against his other toys, and simulate battles. Sometimes those battles would be from the various lessons and stories Arthur had told him, but Alfred had been most content to plan tactics on both sides. They’d always been long, complex affairs that stretched until lunchtime or more. When Arthur was gone for months on end, Alfred’s battles expanded into full fledged wars that scattered toys throughout almost every room of the house.

They had always been led by his trusty General…

_What’s your name?_

Alfred’s nose scrunched up. He turned the small soldier in his hand, almost hoping to find some sort of clue but, once again, came up empty handed.

_General… something._

His hand tightened around the toy soldier as he looked over to the newest editions to his messy storage room. If his favorite toy’s name had been forgotten so easily, when would the more horrific memories join it? Was it wrong to lust for ignorance in his position?


End file.
